


Can't Even Die Properly

by MelanieSkye



Series: Dick and Bipolar II [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, Bipolar II, Depression, Dick Grayson is Robin, Mental Illness, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt, Young Dick Grayson, involuntary hold, suicide ideation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-28 10:53:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19810786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelanieSkye/pseuds/MelanieSkye
Summary: Every day, Dick Grayson fights his brain. Sometimes, just sometimes, he's tired of fighting.





	Can't Even Die Properly

**Author's Note:**

> So, I wrote a thing. I head canon Dick Grayson as bipolar II because I really relate to the character in a lot of ways (particularly with some of the “quirks” that I have because of my bipolar). I’ve started writing little snippets about Dick dealing with his bipolar based off a lot of my own experiences.
> 
> I’m posting it on here, but I’m not sure if I’ll keep it on here. I’m really nervous about posting this because of the subject matter and personal nature of it. Please, please pay attention to my tags. I don’t want to trigger anyone :/
> 
> Please let me know what you think!

Dick stared at the pills in his hand. Him and Batman had prevented a drug deal for these very drugs a mere hour ago. When Batman wasn’t looking, he snatched a few – exactly the number it’d take to kill him. 

And be done with this. 

Five pills. It would only take five. After the battle with the gang members, no one would be surprised that he somehow got poisoned. Bruce would wonder how he missed it, blame himself no doubt. Probably would be glad to be rid of the burden though. 

But – most importantly – he’d never learn how weak Dick really was. How this desire to die always thrummed at the back of his mind. Everyday he’d see different ways to end it. Every day he struggled to remain alive. 

Why fight it? Everyone would be better off without him.

Once he took the pills, he had 10 minutes before they fully kicked in. This high of a dose would kick in quickly. Ten minutes to wash his hands – so they didn’t find dust – and lay down.

So tired...

So tired of fighting his own brain. He could fight Gotham’s worst but how can he begin to fight his own brain. Dick dry-swallowed the pills, washed his hands, and stepped out of the bathroom to head back towards his room.

“Master Richard.”

Dick flinched and turned to see Alfred looking at him. Alfred was always the most perceptive one in the house. Damn it. “Hey Alfred.”

“Is everything alright?”

Dick plastered on a grin. “Of course. Just tired.”

Alfred nodded, “Sleep well.”

Soon as Alfred turned the corner, Dick dropped the smile and turned back into his room. Everything around him blurred as he stumbled onto his bed. Dick curled the blanket tight to his chest as he closed his eyes.

The room felt like it was swimming.

Please.

Please let me die.

I don’t want to fight anymore.

* * *

Dick blinked at the bright lights beaming on him. As his eyes adjusted he turned his head to see Bruce sitting next to him. Where was he? Dick blinked, looking around at the bland white walls with that one painting of flowers. The hospital. He was at a hospital. Wait. What? How? Why? Dick bit back a groan. 

He must have made some noise because Bruce looked at him, smiling a bit. “Oh good. I’m glad you’re awake.”

That makes one of us.

“How’re you feeling?”

Well, I woke up, so.... Out loud he said, “What happened?”

“I think you must have been injected with something.” He glanced around, aware they were in a public space. “When Alfred went to check on you, you had almost stopped breathing. That’s why we took you to the hospital. It was closer than the clinic.”

“Alfred checked on me?”

“Yes, apparently he was concerned about how you were acting last night. I’m glad he did.”

Dick tried to sit up and couldn’t help but groan. “It feels like I was attacked with a stack of bricks.”

Bruce glanced at him with concern. “They had to pump your stomach. The doctor told me that he thinks you attempted suicide.” He sighed, and for a moment looked older than he was. “They wanted to put you on a 72-hour involuntary psychiatric hold. I told them you got in with some thugs and likely took those drugs to fit in.”

From the look on his face it was clear that the doctor hadn’t agreed with Bruce’s theory.

Dick started, they wanted him to stay at the hospital? For three days?

Bruce paused. “You didn’t try to kill yourself, right Dick?” For a rare moment Bruce’s face shone with deep concern. “You would tell me if you were...feeling that way?”

Dick rolled his eyes and forced himself to grin. “Of course not Bruce. You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

If only he knew. But Dick couldn’t tell Bruce. He didn’t want him to know how weak he was. That he was so bad at everything that he couldn’t even die properly.

Bruce shook his head, a relieved sigh escaping his lips. He still watched his son carefully. The medical staff had sounded so certain. But Dick was always so happy. And the drug in his system was the same from the drug bust last night. He sighed. He decided he was over-thinking it and worrying too much when he looked down at Dick who flashed him a sheepish grin.

When the two returned to the manor, Alfred patted Dick on the shoulder. “I’m glad you’re still with us, Dick.”

Dick flinched, looking up at Alfred’s concerned face. He plastered a grin on his face and scratched the back of his head. “Sorry to worry everyone.”

Did Alfred know? Alfred knows all. But he couldn’t know – he would have told Bruce and Dick would still be at that damn hospital and in the psych ward.

* * *

Over the course of the next few weeks, Alfred kept an eye on Dick. Tension sat in the background in the Wayne Manor, at the back of everyone’s minds. Dick spent those weeks trying to act happier than normal, grinning at Alfred and making even sillier jokes when on patrol. No one asked him again whether he had tried to kill himself. And he certainly did not offer up that information.

What could they do about it anyways?

How could he admit, that even when things were actually going right, he always wanted to die?

Dick didn’t plan to try again for awhile. Didn’t want to raise more suspicions.

Can’t even die properly.


End file.
